


Seven For A Secret

by copacetic



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: F/M, M/M, Pining, laurence is such a failboat, not an au, still kind of pretend marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 06:27:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4049647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copacetic/pseuds/copacetic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Events during and after the war. </p><p>Tharkay makes an offer, even if it is not the one Laurence really wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> One for sorrow,  
> Two for luck,  
> Three for a wedding,  
> Four for death,  
> Five for silver,   
> Six for gold,  
> Seven for a secret,  
> Never to be told.

Laurence dodges a falling crossbeam. Lien roars again, the divine wind tinging it with an unearthly reverberation. Above him, stained glass shatters and falls. Laurence ducks his head as Temeraire pulls him back under one of his coils, sheltering him from the glass.

Lien squints in the sudden burst of sunlight. Laurence sees her go slightly uncertain, the glare hurting her sensitive eyes. Temeraire crouches over Laurence, his eyes unblinkingly fixed on Lien. "Temeraire, you cannot use the divine wind. You will bring the entire cathedral down." Laurence says urgently. Temeraire flicks his ruff at him and shoves him to the side behind a pillar, diving for Lien in the same motion. 

They tangle and curl, Lien scoring a bloody line along Temeraire's side. Laurence flexes his hands helplessly. He readies a pistol in case a shot presents itself, but he is as likely to shoot Temeraire as Lien. 

Distant screams come from outside the cathedral. Paris is still at war, after all. Temeraire and Lien grapple, trying to get the measure of each other, then break apart again, snarling and circling in the limited space. Pews break like matchsticks in their talons and against their enormous scaled sides. 

The screaming outside takes on a frenzied pitch and Laurence can finally distinguish a voice, in French, frantically begging Madame to come back inside where it is safe. 

Anahuarque breaks into the cathedral. Her fine dress is done modestly in the French style. A maid and three bodyguards trail her, the maid still pleading. 

Most shockingly, Laurence sees Anahuarque carrying a small boy, no more than two years old, and her stomach curves out with pregnancy. 

She pays no attention to her followers. Her eyes are on Lien. She calls out Lien's and Temeraire's names. They pause, Temeraire's talon missing Lien's ruff by inches.

Anahuarque advances. Her face is still and cool. Her son clings to her, clearly scared, but he holds out a hand to Lien. 

"And now we must choose," Anahuarque says, in French, clear and unafraid. Lien is still regarding Temeraire fixedly, but is not attacking. "My husband has chosen this war. But I have not. And neither has Joseph. I see you brawling in the church like dogs, reduced to squabbling over scraps." Lien flicks her ruff. 

Anahuarque continues, "But I would have an end to the war. I would have my children grow in a world where they are safe. So I ask you," Joseph starts to cry, Lien turning to look, "What world will you give to him, and to his brother or sister? More death, more destruction? Lien, you have seen your prince die. Would you see my children die as well?" Laurence sees Lien wilt and hold out a claw, as if to gather Joseph close. Temeraire, clearly coming out of the battle frenzy as well, glances anxiously at Laurence's hiding spot. "Where does it end? When you and all you loved have died? No," she says, her voice dropping, stepping closer to Lien and allowing herself to be gathered up, her eyes never leaving Lien's red stare, "I say it ends when we say it does. It ends now." Joseph stops crying with Lien's presence, hiccuping, a chubby arm reaching for her muzzle. Lien gently rubs her enormous nose against his tiny hand. 

"What will we tell him, then?" Lien asks, low, as if just to Anahuarque. 

Anahuarque shrugs. "Any man should be happy with France, my empire, and most of Russia. Perhaps we will order him a particularly shiny hat." She smiles at this, a private moment with her and Lien, then turns firm again. "We will tell him to broker a peace. No more invasions. We can watch our children grow and be happy, and be happy ourselves." Laurence sees Lien shudder. Whether in grief or rage, he cannot tell. Anahuarque's voice drops until Laurence can barely hear, almost a whisper, "You remember being happy, Lien?" 

Laurence comes out of hiding and up to Temeraire. Anahuarque's maid and guards move slowly toward the dragons. Laurence still has his pistol ready in his hand, but does not fire. Laurence runs a hand comfortingly along Temeraire's side, and Temeraire swings his great head around to assure himself Laurence is well. 

"Do you think it is over now, Laurence? I can fight her and win, to be sure, but perhaps we should let them sue for peace." Temeraire says, at what passes for a whisper for him. 

Lien speaks, her eyes on Temeraire. Her voice is clear and cold. "We have had our differences, you and I." She has Anahuarque and Joseph in her talons now, anxiously close. Their dark eyes regard Temeraire and Laurence with faint interest. Lien's red eyes look dismissive, a clear contrast from her earlier rage. "I have decided, however, that my best revenge will be in living. You will still have to beg and scrape for every scrap of respect the British choose to give you. While I accompany emperors and empresses, responsible for a nation. Your captain will die soon enough and leave you alone, cowering in a covert." Here she looks down at her people, pausing over the last word as if unfamiliar, "While I, instead, will be happy."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arkady really is one of us, isn't he? I mean, he even writes his own fanfiction.

Arkady is prancing around on the heated stones of Loch Laggan. He is telling the story of the dragons who find the treasure, with much embroidering and hyperbole. 

Laurence has long since given up on tracking the complicated lines of story and characterization. Although Temeraire is always distressingly quick to try and catch him up again. 

Laurence is settled on Temeraire's arm, pretending to pay attention. Temeraire's black scales are pleasantly smooth and warm. His wing is half up, enough to block the weak sunshine, and Laurence is contemplating a nap. 

They are currently without orders. Jane had orders them to their covert to rest up and await "whatever damn fool decision their Lordships try, just sit tight and I will slip in a pardon regarding you two when they are not paying much attention."

Temeraire has been drawing up grand plans for pavilions. He has also been starting quite the correspondence with Wilberforce and Lady Allendale, regarding abolition and draconic rights. 

Perscitia had even flown down for a few days. Laurence suspects it was just for the sheer enjoyment of arguing with Temeraire up close, although they had written several more pages of mathematical proofs. 

Laurence has judged him well content, for the moment. Especially when he can bicker with Arkady or Perscitia to make the day go faster. 

Laurence is enjoying the steady food, Temeraire's company, and the distinct lack of being shot at. If he ever has to hear cannon fire again, it will be too soon. 

He has already sent and received letters from his mother, grateful at the speed of communication when there is not a war on and they are half a world away from Britain. 

Laurence is comfortably at loose ends. 

With all of Temeraire's back pay, they are tolerably well in pocket. He does not have enough to buy an estate, more's the pity, but he finds it does not bother him. He will get Temeraire his pavilion, hire a good cook, and take up something relaxing for a hobby. He contemplates his options as his eyelids close and he starts to drowse. 

Painting, maybe. Building tiny ships in bottles. Hunting foxes? He can help Temeraire write down theorems. Drinking wine and heckling passersby, he decides. 

Tharkay ducks underneath Temeraire's wing, settling himself next to Laurence. Laurence opens his eyes and yawns slightly, not trying to keep up any pretense of having been awake. "Enjoying the story, Will?" Tharkay asks. "I do particularly enjoy the song Arkady just now sung, did you happen to hear it? If you were asleep, I am sure a repeat performance could be obtained."

Laurence cannot help an anxious look up at Temeraire to see if he noticed this. He is safe for now. Temeraire still involved in the story. "Very good, very good." He says hurriedly. "And how are you keeping these days?" 

Tharkay shrugs one shoulder, an economical movement. "Well enough. I am still assigned to that terror over there," he nods at Arkady, although his tone is slightly fond, "So we are up here for the nonce, awaiting orders." This seems so unlike something Tharkay would say- awaiting orders!- Laurence gapes for a moment before recovering. 

"Very good." He murmurs nonsensically, trying to cover his surprise. "I am glad you are here with us." He says, knowing this is more truthful. Granby has been in and out, and the rest of their formation as well, but Laurence finds he feels steadier with Tharkay present. 

Tharkay's eyes are dark, and the skin under bruised and tight with exhaustion. But when he smiles, Laurence sees his wrinkles. He feels affection bubble up in his chest. "Myself as well, Will." 

Laurence resettles himself, yawning again. Triumphantly he sees Tharkay give a small guilty yawn too. "Care for a nap, Tenzing?" 

Tharkay nods, settling against Temeraire's hide. "You will miss a good part of the story, though. I have heard this iteration before, he is quite fond of it. One of them battles a bear." 

Laurence pats his arm, shushing. "Hush or they will explain it to us and we shan't sleep." 

"It is an unusually large bear, Will, and a small dragon. The dance is quite inspiring." Laurence only wrinkles his nose at him. 

Tharkay smiles and closes his eyes. Laurence finds himself pausing, examining his face. His skin is too pale, delicate traceries visible on his eyelids, and his arms are too thin. Laurence will have to make him eat while he is in Loch Laggan. He will have a word with the cooks about bringing food to his room. 

Tharkay's hair is getting long. Laurence has the strangest desire to reach over and push it out of the way. After a moment, Laurence closes his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

Tharkay lingers, in the same weird post war limbo that Laurence and Temeraire are in. Laurence invites him up for flying, and for dinner in the village. 

Laurence does not remember the last time he felt so free. He finds himself eyeing trinkets in the stores again, wondering what he should get for Temeraire. Tharkay comes up behind him as he is looking at a jeweler's window. "Anything in particular, Will?" He asks, tone flat. 

"Just for Temeraire. I swear, he would sleep on a hoard if he could.” Laurence huffs affectionately. 

Tharkay nods, smiling slightly. "He does have some resemblance to a magpie. Let us all be grateful he did not name himself something like Midas, or Imperator, like our dear friend Caesar at least." 

Laurence assents, guiding them to dinner. 

 

"With the prize money for bringing in the two batches of ferals, and Arkady's predilection for capturing prizes while I was supposedly his captain, I find I have enough money to purchase an estate and retire early." Tharkay says. A mild, almost bored expression is on his face. "Traveling as a way of life is starting to pall. I have heard Temeraire express his desire for a pavilion. Obviously he needs land to stand it on. I would deeply enjoy your company, and am happy to proffer my help. I would be honored if you stayed with me. Would you be so kind as to express to him the offer?" 

Laurence's brow wrinkles in surprise. He had not given any thought to Tharkay's shares. And for him to invite them- "It is most unexpected, Tenzing. But, thank you. I will speak to him directly. May I ask-" Laurence fumbles, feeling awkward. "That is to say, where are you-" 

Tharkay rescues him, a faint smile on his face, "I was considering perhaps outside of London, on the small side. Cows, a dairy, a farm." He flicks his fingers in dismissal. "No doubt Temeraire will have opinions. If he likes, he can accompany me to inspect a few likely properties." 

Feeling outmatched, Laurence gives his approval. "No doubt he will be drawing up plans for a heated floor and speaking possessively of your theoretical cows about thirty seconds after I have the words out of my mouth." He says ruefully, in warning. 

Laurence is wrong. 

It takes closer to five. 

 

Tharkay asks them to tour several houses together. It is easy enough to beg off on their limited duties to help with the search. 

They look at nothing very grand, perhaps, but Laurence finds Tharkay's choices tend on the small side. A few seem cramped, however, and Temeraire says as much. 

The fourth estate that they look at is perfect. It is not too small, but neither is it over large. It has a balcony overlooking a wide expanse of lawn, fronted by an apple orchard, where Temeraire excitedly points out he can place the foundations for his pavilion. It is outside a small village called Markyate, in Hertfordshire. The village contains a pub, a village green, a church, and not much else. Temeraire inspects this as well. Laurence is initially afraid he will dislike the sleepy village, but Temeraire pronounces himself well satisfied. 

Tharkay takes Laurence out to view the orchard. He waves a hand slightly to indicate the trees. "It is only April, to be sure, but in the fall we will have a good crop. That is, if you will consent to stay here with me." His face is still and cool, but Laurence sees tension in the corners of his eyes. 

Not for the first time, Laurence wonders at Tharkay's offer. 

He had always thought of him as a man apart. Apart from society, apart from civilization, as apt to be found in a feral dragon cave in the Pamirs as in a tent in the Taklamakan. He knows Tharkay had suffered disappointments and exclusion from English society- even now Laurence shies away from the awkwardness of applying for the full history- as well as a rejection in Istanbul of a more personal nature. The appeal of home and hearth, he would have said, held no interest for Tharkay. 

And now, he is proven wrong. And for Tharkay to desire his presence, and Temeraire's, in his bucolic idyll is equally baffling. He is happy to be wanted, to be sure, and he knows that he is a poor catch for a good marriage. It is probably the design which will answer closest to his ideas of happiness, and he should be grateful for it.

But something, he feels, is still lacking. 

Although he cannot say, even to himself, exactly what that is. 

He had given up hope of living through the war a long time ago. He had only hoped for Temeraire to be alive and happy. To have all these questions regarding his future makes him feel constantly flustered and at loss. He feels as if everyone else has picked up the threads of their old lives and loves and moved on, while he is standing still. 

"I am more grateful than I can express for the offer, Tenzing." He says eventually, knowing he has been silent for too long. Tharkay has been looking out at the prospect with an increasingly blank expression as Laurence has fumbled through his thoughts. "I only hope that you will enjoy our company as much as we will enjoy yours." 

Tharkay smiles like the sun breaking out from the clouds. Laurence feels unaccountably flushed and pleased. "Then I find myself well happy, Will. I will purchase it at once."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane is one of us, too. 
> 
> So Jane/Wellesley is my new OTP. Their love is so full of walking and talking briskly. It reminds me of the West Wing. THEIR LOVE IS SO WELL SUPPLIED. I just love it. 
> 
> I think Wellesley needs a weakness, and I have decided it is ridiculous hats. Fight me.

Jane is quite adept at dancing. Laurence knows he is not in truth a jilted lover, but he does feel a little bereft. 

Tharkay has disappeared, sadly. One of his childhood friends had come down from Scotland and whisked him away as soon as he was introduced to Laurence. He is faintly visible through the press of people, smoking cigars on the patio and playing cards. 

Granby is excellent company. However he keeps being stolen by young ladies to dance. He returns to Laurence, laughing and flushed. "None of them mind the hook, anyway, and I think one of the first ladies took pity on me and went around to her friends and told them to save me from the more amorous ones. Nobody has asked me any personal questions for some time. They seem content to gossip about the other gentlemen and ask about Iskierka and our adventures. We might have more girls for captains soon." He says cheerily, accepting his drink back. "I had to beg off the last dance." Laurence raises his eyebrows in mute inquiry. "Oh, go on then. A fellow gets tired of dancing all the time. If you did not have your sour face on, I am certain your dance card would be full too." 

"I do not have my-" at Granby's incredulous look, he amends, "Well. I find I am a poor companion for dancing tonight. Whatever did you tell the first girl, John?" 

"I told her I have a sweetheart in the service, and talked about the ladies serving as longwing captains. With the admiral out in the public eye, it's not even a terribly scandalous secret any more." 

Laurence nods. He understands, both the subterfuge and the brazenness. With Jane married to Wellesley- Wellington, he corrects himself- the women in the service are for the first time in the public eye. He knows his own mother has been a part, with her quiet dinner parties and friendship with Jane. 

He is not such a pie eyed optimist that he can discount the need to hide Granby's true preferences. He wishes it were otherwise, though. 

It was an elegant solution, to speak of a sweetheart in the service and then guilelessly talk about the mixed ranks. "Perhaps Iskierka will stop throwing eligible duchesses at you one of these days." Laurence offers. 

Granby lets out an explosive sigh of agreement. "Lord, or at least empresses. It does get tiring to duck all the time." He pokes Laurence affectionately with his hook at the jest. Laurence smiles and sips from his own glass. 

The musicians are playing lively Scotch airs, and Laurence enjoys watching the dancing. He sees Harcourt whirl by, color back in her face. Jane is still dancing, still looking a little incongruous in lace and skirts. She looks over, catches his eye, smiles and winks. Laurence tips his glass in acknowledgement. Wellington doesn't notice, his expression almost soft. 

Old members of their formation drift by, offering conversation and jokes, refilling their glasses when needed. Granby is stolen twice more by young ladies. He doesn't seem to mind so much, laughing as loudly as them. His hair is starting to fray from its queue. 

Laurence finds himself thinking of the past as his sobriety starts to fail. He is smiling, certainly, a part of the conversation, but his thoughts start to be slightly morose. He remembers happy times with Jane, and Edith. 

He knows that they are both happy, and settled in their choices. He just had a letter from his mother, detailing Edith's work in the suffrage movement. It is improper for them to directly correspond, but Temeraire and his mother both keep up with her. Her son must be nearly ten now, Laurence realizes, and frowns. 

Jane is resplendent in her admiral's epaulettes, sewn stubbornly to her gown. Her medals of honor twinkling on her breast as Wellington accompanies her around the room. Laurence wishes her nothing but the best, but finds he misses her as well. 

He remembers another, in his youth. Another midshipman, slightly older than Laurence himself. He cannot reproach himself overmuch. They had never exchanged promises, and it at least kept Charles out of the houses of ill repute. He was very fond of Charles. 

The musicians pack up and leave for the night. Most of the aviators are still staying, knots of people standing around. It is really abominably loud, he thinks ruefully, and now he has missed his chance to dance. 

Laurence looks over and sees Tharkay playing the pianoforte. A tall, thin man with a red shock of hair, cut fashionably and long over his forehead, sits next to him. He is sipping whiskey. Tharkay is smiling slightly, an unusual expression for him. Jack- no, Jock?- Laurence cannot remember- turns the page on the music book and says something to Tharkay, too low to hear over the noise of the crowd. 

The music is lovely, limpid and clear. Laurence should stop being shocked at Tharkay's aptitude in unlooked for things. Tharkay says something to Jock, which elicits an elbow in his side. 

Eventually, Jock stands up. Laurence drifts closer, catches "Tea tomorrow?" and Tharkay's assent. Jock leaves, bumping up against Laurence as he goes by. 

Laurence slides on the piano bench, next to Tharkay, with a feeling of triumph. His knee bumps against Tharkay's as he settles. Laurence turns the page of the music book. Tharkay looks over, but does not comment. 

"I hear that you are purchasing an estate." Granby says to Tharkay as he leans against the piano. 

"It is quite lovely, John." Laurence answers for him. Granby's eyebrows go up slightly. "We shall have you over for dinner. Temeraire is building a pavilion, you know he would love to show away in front of Iskierka." 

"Oh, yes?" Granby looks inquiringly at Tharkay, who looks mildly back at him, fingers never pausing.

"Iskierka would like an estate, too, I am sure." Tharkay says smoothly. "Will- the page, if you please." Laurence realizes his negligence and turns the page, apologizing. 

Granby looks unaccountably pleased. He sips his whiskey, eyeing the two of them. Laurence wonders if he should recommend some purchasing tips- he knows Granby did not grow up rich, to say the least, and would be unfamiliar with the process. He tries to think of the least awkward way to broach the subject, in order to spare Granby's pride. He starts to speak of the apple orchard, the plans for the placement of the pavilion. 

"Temeraire wants heated floors, of course, the soft creature. The expense of heating the water alone-” He realizes he almost sounds petulant. “Well, I should not complain. I managed to persuade him out of painting it red." 

Granby's face has been a study in polite interest. Laurence would not have thought him to be so fascinated by the process of home buying. "Ah, Jane," Granby says with pleasure, looking behind him. 

"Jolly good, there, gentlemen. No, do not get up, no bother." Jane waves, as Laurence tries to stand. "Lovely party, is it not? I quite like the whiskey, indeed." Laurence sees with amusement that she likely does. Her cheeks are flushed, her movements loose. 

Wellington is lingering with other people at the other end of the room, so she is unaccompanied. A hat with a truly impressive amount of plumes sits jauntily on her head. 

Granby snorts. "Will Excidium be able to roll you into bed tonight, do you think?"

Jane chortles, clapping him on the back and saying, "Worry more for my poor Arthur, will you? He is afraid I will do some damn fool thing with his expensive new hat. I look very well in it, yes?" She says, tilting it more outrageously. 

Tharkay calmly indicates for Laurence to turn the page, an expression of amusement in his dark eyes. 

Jane sips her whiskey and leans against the wall like she's settling in for a long engagement. Laurence already knows that her and Granby gossip like fishwives, and resigns himself to his fate. 

They catch each other up on all their acquaintances in the service as they loiter next to the piano. Tharkay plays on, blissfully indifferent. 

Laurence tries to close his ears- did he really need to know that about Chenery?- and watches Tharkay play. He sips his own wine, turning the pages when necessary, feeling his focus drift, pleasantly tipsy. 

It is not an arduous task, to be sure, to drink wine and be surrounded by friends. But a sudden thread of misery works his way through his mind, whispering discontent. 

He feels that he should be happier than he is. Something still eludes him, some missing piece only noticeable by its absence. 

He looks up when he hears his name. "Buying an estate together." Granby says, amused satisfaction in his voice. 

Laurence does not know why they both laugh. Jane has to reach an arm out and steady herself on Granby's shoulder. "Good lord!" She says, wiping her face. 

"They have apple trees." He says, with the air of imparting a great secret. "Will is planning on putting the piano outside sometimes for Tenzing to play to Temeraire." Granby gestures with his mostly empty tumbler. 

Jane waves a hand in front of her face, as if to get some air. Laurence, disgruntled, says, "What is so funny?" 

Jane tries to control herself, fussing with her hat to cover her smile. "It makes me very pleased to see you happy, is all, Will." She says finally. Granby coughs and looks at his glass in sudden interest. "I am glad we got you that pardon. It would have been hard for Tharkay if you would have been forced to go back to Australia, all over again, when he has-" her lips quiver with a smile- "such a lovely estate-" she stops. 

Laurence does not know why this is so hilarious. The laughter does not sound cruel, only affectionate, and he knows that neither of them would look down on Tharkay's foreign ancestry. Perhaps the image of Tharkay picking apples is amusing? He chances a glance at Tharkay, who does not look as if he even heard the exchange. 

"Will Iskierka be inviting Immortalis to your future estate, John?" Jane inquires. Laurence supposes he should be glad that the conversation has moved away from him. 

He really thinks Jane and Granby have had too much to drink. Their laughter is starting to grate on his nerves.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> YES KISSING.

Temeraire is reading poetry to Tharkay on the lawn when Laurence finds them. Qian has sent another volume, and Tharkay is one of the few that will understand them in the original Chinese. "Ah, Laurence." Temeraire calls out. "I have been thinking of purchasing a new piano and keeping it in my pavilion." 

Laurence climbs up to settle himself in the crook of Temeraire's arm. "Of course, my dear. I can order you one at once." Privately, he plans on moving the one they have, and hoping Temeraire will forget soon enough. 

Tharkay looks up from the scroll. "As a money saving stratagem, I think it is doomed to fail." 

Temeraire flicks his tail in dissatisfaction. "You sound like Roland talking about Wellesley and his hats." 

Laurence laughs. "It is almost like we were married, yes. Did you ever hear of such a ridiculous thing?" He turns to look at Tharkay, expecting a smile. Instead he looks shocked, pale and embarrassed. "Tenzing?" Laurence asks, unsure. 

Tharkay inclines his head, makes his apologies. He claims a sudden indisposition and leaves, unexpectedly swift. Temeraire looks doubtfully at Laurence. 

Laurence delays for a moment, then pursues. Temeraire calls after them, but Laurence turns around and reassures him before continuing on. 

He calls out Tharkay's name, breathless and fearful. He doesn't know fully what went wrong, but he knows that he has offended him. Interpretations whirl through his head for Tharkay's puzzling retreat as he runs. 

Laurence follows him into the apple orchard, the leaves green and thick on the branches, providing an effective cover. Tharkay ducks down a lane of trees, disappears. “Tenzing!” He shouts fruitlessly. “I am not angry!”

His voice sounds brittle. He is nearby, then. “You will be, though.”

Laurence looks around for him, but cannot see through the vegetation. “Tenzing? I do not understand.” he says plaintively. “Are you upset because I said we were married-” here he pauses, thinking about the wording. “No, that was not it. It was because I laughed when I said it?” At Tharkay’s silence, he presses on. “I do not think of you as a joke, Tenzing. I would- take back my words, if I could. I apologize.” He wishes he could see Tharkay's face. 

Tharkay is still silent. As it continues, leaden and terrible, Laurence feels a sudden realization burst on him. Distantly, he wonders if he is always the last to see these things. 

“You know we cannot get married, but I think if I could, I would.” He tries. Tharkay steps out from behind a tree, his mask firmly on. Laurence wonders why he always thinks Tharkay doesn't care, merely because he looks as if he doesn't. The man has walls behind walls- and yet he invited Laurence to live with him. “I would not leave your side, if you would allow me. But first, you must tell me- what do you want from me?”

Tharkay looks to the side as if pained. “Do not make me say it, Will.”

He gives him a moment, and when he is obviously not going to respond, says gently, “What would you do if I married another?”

Tharkay shudders slightly, as if in dread. “I would wish you joy, and leave the next day.” 

Laurence nods. “Where would you go?”

He looks lost, miserable. “Anywhere. I could not stand to see you marry.”

"And what would you do, if myself and Temeraire left here tomorrow?" 

Tharkay winces. The words come out slowly, as if forced. "I would follow you wherever you went." Tharkay pauses, continues. "I know you do not- feel the same I do. That is alright with me. I have made my peace with it long ago." 

Laurence steps closer, afraid of making him run away again. “Would you like to marry me?”

Tharkay looks up, eyes hungry, but fearful and uncertain. “It is impossible.” 

Laurence lifts a shoulder. “I find I have done many impossible things in my life. Why should anyone else know what we are to each other? I already live with you without exciting comment." The aviators know already, anyway, he realizes with a lurch. Now he understands the good natured amusement at their setting up their home together. 

"Temeraire likes you too. Although he will likely order you some very fine coats and hats.” This prompts a weak, fleeting smile. Laurence presses his advantage, essaying a step further. He is only a few feet away from him. Reassuringly, Tharkay is not fleeing again. 

“He is overly fond of plumes, to be sure. You do not know what you are getting yourself into." Tharkay still looks unsure. Soberly, Laurence says, "If anybody tries to come at us with torches, you know that Temeraire will not let that stand.” He steps forward again gingerly. Tharkay watches him do it. “If you want me to kiss you, you only have to ask, Tenzing.”

Tharkay takes a step and says hoarsely, “Would you kiss me, Will?”

He closes the gap between them, exhilaration running through his veins. The feeling that had been bothering him all along- missing something, an absent puzzle piece- dissolves as he slots his mouth against Tharkay’s. Tharkay tastes salty, he thinks distantly, licking a little at his lips and diving back in for more. Tharkay hums against his mouth and fists his hands in Laurence’s lapels, holding him still. Tharkay smells perfect, a tinge of fresh sweat and skin. Laurence has always liked his scent.

He suddenly pulls away, Laurence chasing after his lips. “No, you great nosy creature, you shan't watch.” Tharkay says firmly over his shoulder. Knowing who is behind him, Laurence turns around. 

“Why not? Are you going to make an egg now?” Temeraire inquires, his enormous head hovering. He is peering interestedly at them, the bulk of his body poorly hidden by the short trees. “I would like a nice egg, Laurence. Can it have your eyes?”

Laurence covers his face with his hands. Tharkay laughs. 

Laurence cannot remember the last time he heard him laugh like that, bright and happy. He wonders if he has ever heard it. "Go on, then." Tharkay says. "He is your dragon. You explain it to him." 

"I do not think I am his dragon." Temeraire says judgmentally. "It is more that he is my person. And if you are going to be kissing Laurence all the time, you are going to count as mine too." 

That makes Laurence smile. "We will do very well together, dear." He says. Temeraire is still viewing them with an air of decided judgement. "We cannot be expected to make eggs together. We are two men, Temeraire. It is as if you and Maximus decided to take up together." 

Temeraire shakes out his great head. "I never heard anything so silly in my life. Maximus. He would eat all my cows. Well, I suppose if you are happy, I will call myself content. And you shan't be going back to Arkady after this, either." He addresses Tharkay, who sketches a bow. Temeraire sits back on his haunches. Thoughtfully, he says, "Do you not have have any nicer coats? You will have to think about how this reflects on me." 

Laurence laughs so hard he cries.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then what happens after kissing.

Laurence manages to make it up to Tharkay's room. He is pushed up against the door and kissed as soon as the door is locked. Tharkay's mouth is warm and hungry, finding Laurence's lips as if magnetized. He puts his hands on Laurence's shoulders, keeping him firmly in place. 

He gasps into Tharkay's mouth as he shoves a thigh in between Laurence's legs. "Oh- yes-" he manages, his arousal hot and hard against Tharkay's body. Tharkay drinks in his moans, kissing him again demandingly. The door shudders in its hinges as Laurence writhes where he is pinned. 

He doesn't know what he wants, but he knows he wants it all. Images flash through his head- Tharkay could hold him down, his wrists pinioned to the mattress- or he could throw his weight around a little bit, just enough to bruise the next day- he is bigger than Tharkay, just a little broader, he could make him shiver and hold still. 

Laurence climaxes just thinking about this, his breeches becoming hot and wet. Tharkay rubs up against him through it, humming in satisfaction as Laurence goes limp, hanging up against the door. 

Tharkay hustles him over to the bed. Laurence sprawls on his back, satiated and weak, and Tharkay climbs over him. He hisses in Laurence's ear, "You do not get off that easy." 

Laurence smiles. "It would appear that I do, Tenzing." Tharkay smiles at that, arranging Laurence's limbs and opening their breeches. He uses Laurence's emission to slick himself, rolling his hips to get friction against Laurence's pelvis. 

Laurence finds the energy inside himself to speak in Tharkay's ear and tell him his plans, his hands gripping Tharkay's sides, planting bruises. "Would you like to have me underneath you, Tenzing- my legs spread for you-" he pants, some small part of him embarrassed at the words coming out of his mouth. But the rest of him is entranced by Tharkay's face, his eyes, the smell of sweat on his skin. "You can, you know. Whenever you want, I will open myself up for you-" Tharkay bares his teeth and climaxes, shuddering against Laurence. He buries his face in Laurence's neck, almost as if shy, biting raggedly at his skin. When he is done, Tharkay slumps against him, heavy and hot. 

Laurence noses happily at Tharkay's scalp. The scent of him is thick there, sweet and dark. Sweat stands out in his hair, darkening the roots. He notes a few silver strands starting, wonders what he will look like in decades. He realizes with a start that he will be there. 

A future stretches out before him, happy and full. He finds himself laughing, at no joke but his own contentment. 

"I am glad you are here with me, Tenzing." He says. 

Tharkay raises his head and kisses him again, soft and sweet. He relaxes again, tucking his nose against Laurence's throat. 

Laurence hums tunelessly, fingers brushing gently through Tharkay's sweaty hair and down his back. He rubs the pads of his fingers on Tharkay's head, making him shift against Laurence's jaw to allow better access. He can feel Tharkay's eyelashes flutter against the sensitive skin, slightly ticklish. 

A vague amount of time trickles by. Laurence is sticky, sweaty and weighed firmly down. He drowses, peaceful and content. 

Finally Tharkay moves, making a disgusted face at the drying mess on their stomachs. Laurence laughs again. Tharkay wrinkles his nose at him, and goes to the washbasin. 

He cleans Laurence gently, then removes all of their clothes, making a little heap on the floor by the bed. The evening is cool, so he opens the window sash to let in the breeze, unselfconscious in his nudity. Laurence sighs happily as he watches, waiting for him to come back to bed. 

A large tattoo, dark with sweat and the edges slightly soft with age, spirals out across one hip and his lower back. He is still a little thin from the war, Laurence notes with disapproval. They will have to find a better cook. 

Tharkay's skin is golden on his back and hips, scarcely darker than Laurence's forearms. His hair is sparse and fine on his body, still black despite the silver in his hair. Scar tissue clusters thickly on his right thigh, and whip marks are visible on his back and shoulders, thin and white. Hard swathes of muscle ripple across his form. Bruises are starting to form on his flanks and neck, Laurence sees with satisfaction. 

Tharkay looks over and sees Laurence's appraisal. His lips curve and he settles a hand on his hip, returning the expression. Laurence laughs and lies back on the bed, holding his arms open invitingly. Tharkay slides in next to him. He kisses Laurence firmly, demandingly, fitting between Laurence's arms like he belongs there. 

Laurence lifts his hands and runs his fingers through his hair again, bracing them on the curve of his skull to hold him in place. Tharkay hums in appreciation, deepening the kiss, rolling over him to pin him to the mattress and hold his shoulders down. Laurence shivers with delight. "You like that, do you?" Tharkay says, tone fond and slightly accusatory, putting more weight into it. 

Laurence nods briefly, obscurely feeling embarrassed. "What else do you like, Will?" He asks, low and possessive. Laurence tries to hide his face when he feels the blush coming, flaring his cheeks with heat, fingers leaving Tharkay's hair to cover his eyes. "No, no, come back." Tharkay says as he moves Laurence's hands away. "It does not bother me. I like it too, you evasive bastard." 

He peers up at Tharkay, gauging his response. Tharkay looks - not vague, not mild, like he usually does. The mask he wears has been stripped away. 

Tharkay looks- Laurence's mouth goes dry- like nothing in the world has pleased him more. And he is focused entirely on Laurence. "I am glad, Tenzing." 

Tharkay maintains his grip on Laurence's hands, his weight a firm line on top of Laurence. "So I ask you, what else do you like? I cannot oblige you if I am ignorant of your wishes." 

Laurence licks his lips, mouth still dry. Tharkay watches him. "You." He confesses. "Your-" Tharkay waits. "Your mouth. I like- I like being bitten and held down." Tharkay makes a noise of triumph but Laurence isn't done yet, the words leaving him in a rush, "The thing we spoke of earlier, that, I like it too- or at least- I think I would-" he stops, cheeks flaming again. Tharkay is again still, patient. 

"We talked of many things earlier, if you will recall. Any narrowing it down would be helpful." Tharkay finally prompts. 

Laurence closes his eyes for a moment, but the words remain stubbornly in his throat. Instead he moves his legs to wrap around Tharkay's hips, shifting his weight until his legs are clasped around Tharkay's waist.

Now it's Tharkay's turn to swallow, and sound uncertain. "I had not thought- Will, are you sure-" Laurence nods. "I will be gentle." He whispers. 

Laurence looks up at him. "I would prefer it if you were not, Tenzing." Tharkay is suddenly hard against Laurence's buttocks, and Laurence pushes up against him. He gasps with shock. Laurence watches greedily, enjoying seeing him surprised. 

Tharkay goes to get the oil. He spreads a towel underneath Laurence's hips and settles himself between his thighs, slicking his fingers. With no further ado, he swallows Laurence down, wet slippery fingers pressing firmly against his entrance in counterpoint. 

Laurence gasps, hands coming up to Tharkay's head again. His mouth is hot and wet, demanding and cajoling by turns. Laurence runs his fingers through Tharkay's hair, pulling slightly. Tharkay slips a finger in, well lubricated. Laurence's legs straighten and then flex at the intrusion. Tharkay looks up to gauge his reaction. Laurence smiles in return. "I can take another one, Tenzing." 

Tharkay rolls his eyes and waits until Laurence is more relaxed before he does. He stretches him open, laboriously slow, adding more oil. 

Laurence is at the precipice for what feels like forever, his orgasm coiling lazily through his stomach. He tries again to push for more, faster, but Tharkay makes him wait. Until Laurence is satisfied with anything and everything Tharkay will deign to give him, patient and accepting. 

Finally he is judged ready enough, and Tharkay pushes up his legs to rest on Tharkay's shoulders. Laurence is folded almost in half, deliciously powerless. Tharkay gently works his way inside Laurence's body, small gasps escaping him, but intent in watching Laurence's expression. After a small eternity, he is fully seated. He pauses to evaluate Laurence again. 

Laurence tries to smack him, but doesn't have any leverage. "Any day now, would be acceptable-" Tharkay laughs. "I am only saying, I could have died of old age-" Tharkay rolls his hips, hitting him in the right place, and Laurence stops, moans. "Yes- that is it-" Tharkay does it again. He can feel his orgasm again rising up his spine, almost close enough to grasp. Tharkay grabs his wrists, holding him down. He pants and moans, begging for release. Tharkay wraps a wet hand around Laurence, moving in counterpoint to his hips, sweetly and smoothly, and Laurence can feel it building, still elusive. 

But it's when Tharkay leans over and bites Laurence's shoulder that he climaxes, dizzy and shuddering. Stars burst behind his eyes. It pulses brough him, lush and full, waves breaking, unstoppable as the tide. 

Tharkay lifts his head to watch Laurence's face, working him through it to prolong it. When Laurence is weak, limbs limp around Tharkay's form, he starts to move again. Panting and gasping, intent on only his own pleasure, it is only a few thrusts before he comes as well, Laurence murmuring promises in his ear. He bites Laurence's shoulder again, deepening the bruise. Laurence's exhausted body gives up another weak orgasm, juddering like a ship in a gale. 

They lie entwined for a few moments. Laurence feels satiated, wrung out like a dishrag. He sighs happily and pushes Tharkay away, who rolls on his side and closes his eyes. "I suppose it is my turn to clean up." Tharkay hums in response, drowsing already. Laurence wipes them both down with the towel, pleased to see the bed is still clean underneath them. He goes to the washbasin and wets a cloth, returns to Tharkay and cleans them both more thoroughly. Tharkay allows himself to be pushed and pulled, eyes barely slitted open. Laurence drops the cloth on the heap of dirty clothes, sliding his way to Tharkay's side. 

He pulls up the sheets and pushes his nose against Tharkay's neck. He enjoys the way the bruise on his shoulder twinges as he stretches his arm out over Tharkay's side, tucking a hand underneath his flank. Tharkay smells lovely, sweat and skin, and a distinct scent that is only his own. Laurence rubs his face against his neck, eliciting a complaint. "You need to shave before you do that more, you stubbly bastard, and your breath is tickling me." Tharkay says, squirming. 

Laurence laughs, breathless and pleased, but gives up the assault, curling around him again. He identifies the feeling bubbling up through his breastbone- he is happy. "I am glad I am here, Tenzing." 

Tharkay smiles. "So you have said, Will." He pauses, savoring it. "I am as well."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm joirerson on tumblr! And livejournal, if anyone is still on that.


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